Eulalia!
by Aaera
Summary: Lycus the Doubleaxe they called him, for the two mighty axpikes he carried in each paw. Enormous was he, perhaps larger than any badger lord before him  but his hares were beginning to doubt the size of his mind...
1. Lycus the Doubleaxe

**I know it's really short, and kind of boring and odd, but it's really just a kind of prologue . please bear with me. I'm new to this, and this is kind of an experiment D though I really like the story I have.**

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The mood around the mountain of Salamandastron had been morose, somber - the death of the mighty Badger Lord Mistsripe had only been announced that morning. The eldest son of Mistripe, Thorne, had been absent from the volcano fortress for quite some time, having had set out on his journey from the volcano, as most young badgers do, quite a while before the death of his father. Thus, the mighty Thorne was not there to assume his rightful position as lord of the mountain.

Lord Miststripe had sired many children, for a Badger Lord. Thorne had been his firstborn, a nearly full-black male badger with thin, narrow slits for stripes. Emestris had come next, the kind, pretty daughter of a mighty lord. After Thorne had left on his journey, another son came, named Lycus. Lycus was near his older brother in appearance, though his stripes were lengthier and wide, his black coat thick and jet as night, just as large as his immense brother. After Lycus came Phellern, another pretty female badger whose heart was kind, soft, and gentle, somehow both the polar opposite and alikeness to the older, and much larger, Emestris.

Unfortunately, Emestris had been stricken down by a vicious disease only three seasons before her father's own death, and so she could not follow him as Lady of the mountain. Thus, the task fell to Lycus to step into the position of Badger Lord of Salamandastron.

He was quite young to assume the role, and so Colonel Resselo de Chigran Riffice stepped in as a sort of regent. The new badger lord, however, eventually proved to the hares of his new Long Patrol that he had no need for such a regent; he was quite capable of making mature decisions for his hares on his own. However, the Colonel had formed an almost fatherly bond with Lycus during his assignment as regent of the young badger; the two remained close, even as Lycus became the true Badger Lord and was instructed to choose a weapon for himself.

Quite oddly, the massive young badger could find no weapon that truly suited him amid the heaps of finely-crafted steel left for him by the badger lords and ladies of old. The enormous battleaxes did come very near to being chosen, though finally the mighty new lord decided to merely craft his own weapon at the forge, using the skills and instruction taught to his father, and his father before him. Taking to the forge, Lycus practically isolated himself from his curious hares.

Eventually he completed his mighty weapon, a huge battleaxe fastened with four great rivets to a thick and long oak rod encased in steel. It seemed a normal axe, despite its great size, until you gazed at the top of the mighty axe – it was crested with a pike-like triple spear point, a single point rising from the top before two longer and larger points emerged from both sides of the rod.

The young Badger Lord had fashioned two of these mighty axpikes (If one dared to call them that), both heavier than six hares apiece (before they had eaten, of course). However, Lycus held them easily, his practices that followed his creation of this weapon showing he wielded them with great skill and speed.

For them he was given his second title, christened by his perilous mountain hares: Lycus the Doubleaxe!

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**I might change Lycus's second title. I had a lot of trouble choosing it, and originally I thought Lycus the Cunning sounded cool, but it didn't go with my story, or with the plot I have planned for his character x Next time, I might write a chapter of Redwall, or maybe even our enemies! We'll just have to see.**

-- Aaera


	2. Rothel Garhan

"You understand what you must do, then?" The large wildcat hissed threateningly, leering through naturally slitted eyes toward the dark mahogany fox before him. The fox seemed to shirk back, lowering his head in respect and muttering fearfully, "Indeed, master."

A pleased, even amused grin stole across the features of the tawny wildcat, his deeply slitted eyes only seeming to narrow furthur, if it was possible - to one of the ferrets in the crowd below him, he even appeared to close his eyes. "Goooood." Hissed the wildcat, his dangerous voice a soft, velvety hum, quite a contradiction to his fearful size and expression.

Turning to the vermin gathered beneath him, a large scattering of ferrets, stoats, rats, an occasional fox, the warlord increased the volume of his words. A subtle ferocity seemed buried beneath their smoothness, an undertone of hate and malice.

"Your brave captain Sarzel the Fox has accepted his mission!" The words seemed to be filled with praise, though the dark fox recognized the tone of the wildcat's voice almost immediatly - he had been with the cat warlord long enough, hadn't he? Instead of the happy warmth his words seemed to exulate, it was obvious by the soft current of a true tone that the wildcat cared nothing for Sarzel, nor for his "courage" in accepting the task given to him. He was, of course, easily replaceable - there were four other captains quite ready to fall into the warlord's favor, despite how dangerous and, even in the beginning, painful Sarzel's task was.

Starting slightly, the fox realized that the wildcat and the entire crowd's faces were trained upon him, and with an immense amount of embarrasment the fox realized that the wildcat lord must have continued on and then expected the dark fox to respond somehow. Dipping his head respectfully to his leader, the fox mumbled something intelligible, along the lines of "Thanks yeah I will uh-huh praise be to Rothel." A stoat standing amongst the fore of the crowd gave a snigger, though he stopped short as the peircing gaze of both the wildcat and the fox landed upon him, the wildcat's seemingly one of curiousity and the fox's full of absolute malice.

"Yes." Spoke the cat eventually, a single paw drawing up from his sides to be placed with an almost loving touch upon the hilt of the enormous longsword at his belt. The belt, a suprisingly intricately twined piece of material made of softened and died treeroots, was thick and a bit loose around the wildcat's lean and a bit slender waist.

"Yes..." He repeated, his voice having dropped to a new softness, his words seeming to be a reassuring murmur. However, Sarzel looked up in horror, understanding the bloodlust, the malice, the ultimate pleasure of what was about to occur before him. His dangerous eyes slitted mercilously, a small smile of pleasure spreading across his expression as he spoke his next words.

"Now, let it begin."

Four specially-chosen vermin stood forward, drawing their weapons. Closing in on the dark fox, each with a grin of pleasure at being chosen to do this deed to their not-exactly-beloved Captain, they set upon him. The cries of the dark fox were drowned out by the sudden stamping of each ferret, stoat, rat and fox as they pounded in rhythm upon the floor of the clearing, and the repeated chant that, as their voices - as one - rose above the clearing, could be heard all about the forest.

"Rothel Garhan! Rothel Garhan! Rothel Garhan!"

Rothel Garhan, leader of the Loshanks, leered with a continuously increasing amount of pleasure at the scene before him, the repeated chant of his name heightening his high of enjoyment. At the moment, nothing could go wrong - nothing! His plan was perfect, his soldiers were loyal and obedient, his 'brave' captain accepting his task. He was cunning, he was feirce! None could stand in his way! Slowly his small smile grew into a wide grin, Sarzel having fallen into unconciousness as his attackers beat on relentlessly. The mighty warlord's voice eventually broke through the chant, though the vermin merely lowered their volume to a low murmur.

"Stop! It is done." Cried the wildcat, stepping forward to blink downwards upon the mangled, yet still somehow alive, form of Sarzel. "Good!" Cried the warlord, his grin etched with a boundless amount of pleasure upon his facade, bordered by a hidden ferocity. "Good..." He repeated once more, turning to another of his captains, a sturdy ferret, at his side. "All is ready." He purred, glancing back to the gasping, unconcious shape of the torn fox. "Take him to his tent." Chuckling wickedly, the ferret scooped up the fox none-too-gently, dragging his still figure from the crowd.

The four creatures who had beaten Sarzel began the chant again, pounding the ground heavily with their footpaws, bellowing out their leader's name as the Loshanks below joined in, their voices at an even _higher_ volume than before. Basking under the chants of his followers, the wildcat drew his sword; joining the chant, he raised the mighty longsword, whirling around on his footpaws to point in the direction of the great mountain fortress of Salamandastron. The roar of the vermin only increased, the stamping of their footpaws seeming to shake the very earth.

"ROTHEL GARHAN! ROTHEL GARHAN! ROTHEL GARHAN!"

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**Here's the next chapter. It's just introducing our bad guys, and kind of helping me to lead up to the next chapter we have with Salamandastron. Don't ask me why, but even though he's a bad guy, I really love Sarzel. Any reviews or comments are incredibly appreciated, especially suggestions or anything. By the way, if you guys are wondering where I get "Loshanks", it's because I looked up 'sword' in the thesaurus and shank was there. Since Rothel carries a longsword, a shorted 'long' to Lo, and 'lo, Loshanks! Wow, a long rant this time. I'll stop blathering now.**

**- Aaera**


	3. Atlus, Skipper of Otters

The wide gates of the abbey swung open, the old gatekeeper Tezmus standing with an enormous grin plastered upon his old, wrinkled face. Stepping forward into the open road outside of the red-bricked abbey, the ancient otter wrapped his arms around Skipper of Otters, his grin only spreading even wider as the young male otter snatched him up into a tight bearhug. "Tezmus!" Cried the leader of the otters, a grin growing over his own lips as he put an arm around the old otter's shoulders and marched with him into the boundaries of the abbey. Making light conversation as they went along, the seven solemn otters that followed behind Skipper and Tezmus, marching behind their leader quite gravely, were flanked by two much younger otters that fell back, glancing around repeatedly at the towering walls of the redstoned safehaven for all goodbeasts.

"Can you believe it, Kalith?" Whispered the young male hastily, gaping slightly open-mouthed at the large doors to the abbey. "I know!" The female responded, her deep black eyes sparkling with a startled excitement at the newfound place, formerly only of tale and legend. "I had heard the tales Skipper told of the place, but I never expected _this_, Vendel!" Suddenly the two stopped their hushed, reverent conversation, a gruff voice breaking into their whispered ones. "Kalith! Vendel! Whotter you two doin', hangin' back like that?" A low chuckle followed the otter's words, the two young riverdogs blinking up at the tall, lean figure of Atlus, Skipper of Otters.

"Well, you see, sir..." Began Kalith, stuttering slightly as she struggled for an answer, her tongue tied as she shirked back, intimidated by the tall form of her leader. Chuckling even more, the older odder placed a look of mock feirceness on his expression, his voice lowering to a guttural growl as he glared, seemingly angry, at the two creatures who seemed to shrink under him. "Now, you listen to me, Kalith, and you too, Vendel..." It seemed as if the leader of the riverdogs was about to launch into a jesting speech about keeping up with the others and obeying orders, but his words were interrupted by the slightly shrill and definitely scolding tone of Sister Marigold bustling toward him, followed by an extremely hassled and flustered looking Abbot.

"Now, now, Skipper! None of this, now! I don't believe these two young otters were doing anything wrong, no sir, probably just enjoying their first look at the Abbey! No reason to spout off at them! I'm ashamed of you, sir!" Exclaimed the mouse, shuffling protectively in front of the two young otters who had just avoided a mock scolding. Of course, Sister Marigold either ignored the obvious jesting in Skipper's words or was oblivious to it, and as the Skipper of Otters began to look quite guilty and ashamed under Marigold's harsh reprimand, Kalith could not resist a giggle. Vendel glanced at her anxiously, willing her not to draw the Skipper's attention to them, and Kalith hastily attempted to regain her composure. It was at about that time that the flustered Abbot rushed over, wringing his paws nervously.

"Sister Marigold!" Gasped the Abbot, crouching to place his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. "Please... Skipper... was... kidding..." Collapsing to the Abbey lawn, the Abbot breathed heavily. Skipper immediatly dashed to his side, followed closely by Sister Marigold. "Now, now, Abbot, relax." Soothed the otter, patting the twitchy fieldmouse's paw gently. "Just relax." Kalith and Vendel had stood, dumbstruck, staring blankly down at the gradually slowing rise and fall of the Abbot's middle. Finally he stood, smiling gratefully at Skipper. "I'm sorry, Skipper, I'm just not quite as young as I used to be." Suddenly his eyes changed course to blink upon the still forms of the young otters, his greeting warm and welcoming. "New recruits, eh, Skipper? You're just in time for afternoon tea! I'll ask Friar Jelks to make some extra food, yes, yes..." Muttering to himself, the Abbot turned on his heel, dashing toward the abbey and thus, the kitchens.

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Skipper glanced after the dissapearing shape of Abbot Altin. "Never slows down, does he?" He asked Sister Marigold with a chuckle, though the nursely mouse merely glanced at him worriedly. "Never. I've told him time and time again, but does he listen...? Of course not." The infirmary Sister sighed with such a downcast expression that Skipper could not help but hook his arm in her's. "Well, my lady." He teased, his voice suddenly grand and flattering. "Shall we descend the lawn to a charming afternoon tea?" The Sister could not help but giggle, patting his paw gratefully. "Why, of course, my dear Skipper." Off they went, leaving Kalith and Vendel to turn they gaze and blink at each other, both equally confounded.

"Come now, my friends!" bellowed an extremely loud voice right behind them, rough and large paws clasping their shoulders tightly. The two young riverdogs both half-turned in alarm, greeted with an extremely odd sight. An enormous hedgehog was grinning widely at them, his wide girth hidden under a dark brown apron. His spikes were long and protruding, and after a moment of withstanding their stares the hedgehog chuckled cheerily and began to walk down the lawn, in the direction of a slowly gathering amount of goodbeasts. "I'm Cellarhog Roffspike," called the hog, turning to motion with his hand in a 'follow-me' gesture. "Come now, again, we must get to afternoon tea, don't want to miss out on Friar Jelks's best treacle tarts, eh?" Laughing cheerfully, the cellarhog turned and began to make his way from them once more, his great girth seeming to shake with his laughter. Turning to blink at each other once more, yet this time for only a moment, both the otter's voices soon choursed in a singsong "Coming!" which sent both Vendel and Kalith into giggles as they dashed toward the Cellarhog's departing back, toward the afternoon tea that awaited them.

Seating themselves at the side of Greig, one of the Skipper's most experienced otters, the two young riverdogs gaped in open amazement at the feast spread on the abbey lawn before them. Meadowcream, treacle tarts, pies... anything you wished for seemed to be in sight. Suddenly a quite portly and staggering squirrel appeared, his back bending over as he attempted to carry a tottering pot of hotroot stew to the otter's end of the blankets. Gasping with glee, Kalith and Vendel were off their feet before any other creature, seeming to be at the good Friar's side before even a second had passed. Behaving quite like a hungry hare, Vendel took the pot from Friar Jelks, Kalith stepping in lightly to take the other end of the pot of stew. They swept it away with a flourish, leaving the squirrel Friar standing, blinking blankly at the two otter's backs as they hurried away to the end of their picnic.

"'Otroot stew!" Exclaimed Kalith excitedly, seeming to bounce up and down as she leaned forward quickly. "Skipper, they made 'otroot stew!" The lines of abbeybeasts and otters alike erupted into laughter, Skipper grinning down the line to the young ottermaid. "Yessum, young missie, they did indeed. Quite a suprise, ain't it?" This sent the leader of otters into another round of racous laughter, though Kalith and Vendel had quite a time attempting to determine the cause of their leader's sudden outburst of laughter. Glancing at each other curiously, the two were about to speak when a voice cried from the head of the picnic: "Hush now, goodbeasts! The Abbot wishes to speak!"

"Th-thank you, Sister Marigold." Muttered the Abbot gratefully, rising to his full height (not extremely impressive) before he spoke. "We welcome Skipper and his otters to this feast, and we thank our resourceful Friar Jelks for preparing their food so quickly." Clearing his throat loudly as the Friar stood and bowed to great cheers and laughter, the picnickers again fell silent, listening intently to the words of the Abbot. Bowing his head, the goodbeasts following his example, he spoke the grace. As soon as he was finished, he looked up brightly, glancing around with a renewed cheerfulness in his expression. Clapping his paws together happily, he announced, "Well, what are you all waiting for? Dig in!"

All the creatures present at the abbey immediatly did as they were ordered, and as the feast went on, the Abbot eventually approached Skipper. "Skipper, I meant to ask you, what was the meaning of your visit?" The fieldmouse smiled blithely at the riverdog. Skipper, suddenly remembering the reason for his coming, snapped to a much more alert state of mind. "Me gosh, Abbot, I near forgot the reason I came with all this food and excoitement!" exclaimed the leader of the otters, the creatures in their general area turning to blink curiously at the discussion of the Abbot and the Skipper. "I came 'ere to tell ye, Abbot, there's news of a travelin' group o' vermin, 'eaded from the coast toward Mossflower. Thought you might want ter know, even though they seem to only be skirtin' the woodlands, not even 'eaded for Redwall. But you still better be careful, Abbot. If yeh wish, me an' me otters'll stay 'ere and 'elp around the place 'till we hear word of the vermin passin'."

The abbot, suprised, gazed at Skipper in the beginning of his speech with a slightly amused expression that slowly faded into one of concern, despite the otter leader's attempted reassurances. "Vermin? Headed toward Mossflower?" Squeaked the fieldmouse, suddenly back to his normally nervous self. "Ah, yes... If you would, please, I think that'd be best... Though, of course, as you say, we'll have to wait and see of their intentions..." Mumbling mostly to himself, the Abbot suddenly stood and hustled off toward the abbey, gesturing for Atlus, the Skipper, to follow. "We'll have to find you a room to stay in, something large. You have more otters than usual with you..."

Soon after the feast had ended, the riverdogs were situated in their new quarters for their stay at the abbey, the night falling silently over the woodlands. The moon had risen gradually through the sky as the sun fell, leaving the world cloaked in a peaceful darkness. Turning to Verdel, who lay only a bit away from her, Kalith whispered quickly, "This is excitin', ain't it?" Verdel merely rolled his eyes, turning his back on the young ottermaid before whispering back hoarsely. "Shush, Kalith, 'tis time for sleep." However, Verdel could not help but understand the mixed emotions hidden within those simple words - both a slight squeak of adventure, and her brother's normal undertone of nervousness. Turning her back on him as well, with a small smile, the young ottermaid gently drifted to sleep, thinking of the likeness between her brother and the Abbot. _Well,_ she thought as she finally landed into dreamland, _at least my first journey to the Abbey was exciting. _

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**Huphup! Long chapter! I kind of got carried away, sorry about that. Who are those mysterious vermin who travel toward Mossflower Country? Do they mean harm to the Abbey and the creatures within? Maybe we'll find out in the next chapter, even though I have a visit to Sarzel planned. Thanks for the suggestions and the reviews, especially from Awsomewriter123. I hope this chapter was ok, however long it was. I'm excited about this story now, which explains my quick updates. Hope it's not too bad **

**- Aaera**


	4. Sarzel's Arrival

Major Thistledown of the Long Patrol was sparring heatedly with his young pupils in turn, the heat of the midday time slightly quelled by the lengthy shade drawing out from the mighty fortress of Salamandastron. At that moment, he was dodging the slightly free-falling jabs and punches of Parrale Roten, a young and adamant new recruit. Sitting at the crest of a rolling sand dune was his second trainee, Sage de Lownes Wethill, her eyes riveted with a blank expression upon the distant horizon. All was peaceful and quiet, despite the occasional strained mutterings from Parrale as he struggled fairly gallantly against the skilled and experienced major - Thistledown's group had been the only to dare travel out into the heat. The Major himself called it 'heat conditioning', though both recruits secretly thought he merely wanted to make them miserable.

Suddenly the young haremaid leapt up, raising a paw to shield her eyes from the shining sun as she peered toward something in the distance. Thistledown brought his large foot around in a wide sweeping motion, sending the unsuspecting Parrale to his feet, then loped to Sage's side, attempting to follow the direction of her eyes as he too shielded his eyes from the sun.

"Wot is it, me gel?" He asked with a chuckle, his vision not nearly as sharp as the young haremaid's - he could make out nothing upon the bright horizon but more sand. Sage cast him a slightly frustrated glance, raising the paw at her side to point at something only her sharp eyes seemed to be able to distinguish on the desert sands. "Blinkin' vermin, I think!" exclaimed Sage as she seemed to now be able to make out the approaching form more easily.

"Vermin?!" Repeated the Major, his paw immediatly straying to the trusty saber he had slung at his waist. He slitted his eyes intently, though apparantly he still wasn't able to make out the distant form of an approaching fox. Parrale finally stirred behind them, groaning slightly as he struggled to his paws. "'Ow many, me gel?" Inquired the hare earnestly, glancing back to the slowly rising shape of the hare who had, moments before, been his sparring partner. Sage narrowed her eyes as he himself had done, waiting for a moment to see if any other beasts followed the lone fox.

The young trainee's eyes widened in a small amount of suprise as she saw the maroon vermin fall to the floor of the hot sands. "Only one blinkin' fox, I think, an 'e's injured, sah." She reported eventually, slightly uncertain that the fallen fox would rise up again. "Actually, 'e might be bloody done for!" She cried a moment later, gesturing for the Major to look. He took one glance at the now-visible fox, made a guttaral sound of disgust, and turned abruptly to the now upright but still dazed Parrale. "Go inform the Colonel, wot," he instructed quickly, grasping the long-legged hare's shoulder and turning him in the direction of the mountain, "tell 'im there's vermin near the mountain, but only one, don't give the ol' bucko a heart attack, now." Blinking with a confused exspression, the tall hare took off, dashing quickly and with a slightly lolloping gait toward the entrance to the volcano.

Once more turning to Sage, the Major patted the haremaid on the back before he chuckled, handing her the weapon she had placed upon the ground as she awaited the battle between Parrale and Thistledown to end. It was a long javelin, better used with two hands, though it could be used fairly well as a sparring stick, for which Thistle's excercise had called for. She seized it from him quickly, all the while giving him nearly the same confused and puzzling look Parrale had held. "Wot is it I need me ole weapon for, sah?" she asked innocently - and was a bit taken back by the wolflike grin that suddenly ruled the Major's expressions. "Well, me young gel," began the perilous officer of the Long Patrol, "woulda like ter see yer first real, live vermin?"

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"DID YOU BLOODY FORGET WHO YER BLINKIN' ENEMIES ARE?!" roared the old hare, all the while drawing himself up to his full height - though this was nothing compared to the mighty height of the enormous young Badger Lord. For a moment, Lycus's expression softened into a vision of pain and hurt before it morphed back into a hard and slightly angry expression as he turned around abruptly to glare down at the Colonel, who thought he could see a flicker of red through the badger's eyes. Instead of yelling as the hare himself had done, the badger spoke in a somehow more intimadating, lower tone. "Resselo." he stated with a slight growl, his ringed eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "I am the Badger Lord of Salamandastron, and my word is law. I am in complete control of the situation." Turning once more, the badger lord, cloaked in a simple red tunic, began to leave the colonel's prescense. However, Resselo would not allow as such - he followed behind slowly, appearing slightly frightened of the massive muscles and strength, the anger, that young Lycus held in check. 

"Lycus," he began nearly pleadingly, as if apologizing, though he also held a firmness in his voice as if he was not going to accept no as an answer. "you accepted a blinkin' fox into the mountain! Wot kind of Badger Lord does that, eh?" The nearly unstriped badger merely glanced out of the corner of his eye, halting his great motion slowly. Giving a soft sigh, the dark badger turned toward Resselo, the fire in his eyes slightly quelled. "Phellern." He stated quite mournfully, gazing with suddenly sorrowful eyes at the old hare. "I..." The Colonel nearly choked with the suprise of seeing the mighty Lycus with such an expression, though he understood the simple words of the badger quickly. "I see." He responded quietly, watching in silence as the dark Lord slowly lowered himself to a loose position with his back to the wall of a corridor. The young badger eyed him mournfully from the corner of his eyes, sighing once more before he spoke again. "I... I can't dissapoint her. She's... the only family I have left, as far as we know..."

The Colonel himself softened under this, understanding quite well the hidden meaning of Lycus's words. No hare on the mountain could help but adore or hold affection for the young Phellern, with her gentle nature and kind disposition. She seemed to care for all creatures, good and bad, that walked the Earth, every grain of sand upon Salamandastron's shore - all of the goodbeasts of the volcano fortress were slightly in awe of the amount of love she was capable of. This was the central part of Rothel Garhan's plot - along with the amount of value the young badgermaid held to Lycus. It was quite accepted that he adored her more than any other creature, bestowing anything she wished for upon her, treating her as if he was a doting father. However, the young badgermaid had not been ruined by overindulgence, rarely asking for anything. It was thus that the officer of the Long Patrol understood the inner turmoil of the Badger Lord of the mountain at his young sister's request.

After noticing the confusion and even slight chaos that ensued after the sighting and discovery of Sarzel, the badgermaid could not help but be drawn into the madness - viewing the torn, dark, bloodied form of the fox had instilled a deep sorrow within her. She had demanded his wounds be treated, demanded he be taken to the infirmary and treated as any wounded hare would have been. Quite a few of the hares were absolutely stunned by the insistance and near ferocity of her declarations, merely obeying her orders meekly as Lycus rushed to the infirmary. He had burst in, demanding to know what sort of force had compelled his hares to allow a vermin beast to enter his mountain. He had stopped short as he saw his young sister treating the unconcious vermin's wounds so tenderly, talking to his still form all the while. He had pulled her easily by his enormous force from the room, demanding to know what she was thinking, for the first time in his life treating her roughly. The young badgermaid had remained calm, however, fighting his anger with her own steely gaze. She had somehow convinced him to keep the fox within the mountain, perhaps only until he awoke and could tell his tale, and now the young badger lord was unsure how she had done it.

And so now the fox, remaining unconcious, was a resident in his own infirmary - who were they, Redwall Abbey, for goodness' sakes? Colonel Res had found him sitting alone and pondering this in his chamber, and so their agrument had begun. Grumbling slightly, the Colonel sat beside his friend, sighing and lowering his head to his propped up paws. Suddenly Phellern rushed by, carrying bandages in her arms, and Lycus stood expectantly, about to talk in objection (those were good bandages she was using on vermin scum!), but she turned to give him a gaze that could match that of an adder. Dropping back to his former position, the Colonel and the Badger Lord gave a simultaneous shudder of discomfort as the young badgermaid rushed away.

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**Bleh. I only like the start of the chapter, really, the part with the hares. It didn't turn out quite as I had hoped it would, even when it took me so long to update, too! I'm sorry. I've been a bit sick, and my shoulder's been hurting a lot, so it's a bit uncomfortable to type a lot, but it's my birthday today so I'm in a good mood and decided to finish the chapter. Hope it wasn't too boring, it's just outlining the arrival of my favorite foxy boy, Sarzel, and how he's accepted into Salamandastron. I know it seems unrealistic, maybe, that Lycus could be swayed just by Phellern, but I really couldn't put in _how much_ he cares for her, so it's my fault, really. She's supersuper important to him - he would never do something to upset her. That's why he's so torn between her and his duties against vermin as Badger Lord. Gah, I talk too much. Sorruy.**

**- Aaera**


	5. The Death Bringers

Grumbling slightly to himself, Rotear the rat stirred a pot of extremely atrocious looking... stew. The rat himself was quite unsure that this was still edible, the stream of odd ingredients that his fellow vermin had repeatedly brought to him questionable. He was a bit taken aback that HE had been chosen to make the food while his comrades "gathered ingredients", which seemed to mainly outline the job of laying around quite a bit before they spotted some blade of grass or something not hard to get to to bring to back to him, so that the rat would not complain. Even as he pondered this, Rotear began to grow angry, and eventually he threw down the long stick that he was using to stir the hardening mixture and began to storm off angrily in the direction of his "gatherers." Huffing all the way, the rat repeatedly called loudly for his "friends", snarling viciously as he tripped on a root and fell. All in all, the beast was traveling extremely loudly, slightly out of place stumbling around, fuming, in the picturesque wilderness. Righting himself, the vermin spat and peered around with narrowed eyes.

Suddenly the rat flew backwards, slamming hard against a tree trunk nearly five feet away. Three throwing stars had peirced his forehead and paws, two small darts at his stomach. A small trickle of blood ran from his gaping mouth, his eyes opened wide in fear - a contrast to their narrowed, punishing state only moments before.

A cloaked figure practically glided from the dense trees surrounding the small clearing, the creature's face obscured by a large black hood. Behind him, three more emerged, in a row. Two of these beasts had their hoods pushed back, a white vixen fox holding a throwing star poised in her paw, ready to be thrown once more if the rat dared stir. An enormous dog fox stood beside her, his paws held in an odd flicking position at his sides. The two exchanged a glance, the white vixen curling back her lip slightly, an expression that clearly said 'he was mine,' plastered on her face. The mighty fox merely glanced at her, chuckling quietly as he slunk forward behind his moving leader. "Don't get yer pretty fur all in a fuss, Satel," he whispered nearly mockingly, though his next words were immediatly stifled by his leader turning his hood darkly to gaze coldly at the large fox. He immediatly quieted, gazing with a nearly fearful expression at the silent, hooded figure that led them.

The four beasts soon came upon the fringes of the camp. The vermin that had set up camp away from the main group centered around the wildcat warlord gathered together as the four beasts entered their midst. Quite suddenly the leader halted, the three beasts lined behind him stopping flawlessly with his own movements. He gestured with a single paw, in a loose sort of wave, to the creature behind him that remained hooded. The third fox nodded and drew down his black hood, revealing his wolfish facade to all the creatures gathered around them. His maw was slightly distorted by the grin that contorted his features continuosly, a single one of his teeth crooked and jutting from his grinning mouth, making his appearance even more so manic. However, much more fearsome were the odd metal peices he wore on his paws, each digit of his paw tipped with a clawed, sharpened sheet of metal.

The leading creature kept his hood up, even as his three obvious subordinates all had the hoods to their cloaks upon their shoulders. He swept forward once more, perhaps only displaying the third fox's manic, ravenous expression to bestow fear into the surrounding vermin. If this had been his intent, he succeeded quite well - a ferret at the front of the small group backed away, stumbling over another creature, as the red fox turned his hungry gaze upon the beast. The red fox had raised a paw in a dark greeting, his eyes narrowing dangerously, then emitted a short, barking laugh - the first noise that had come from the creatures before the massive fox had spoken to Satel.

Even as the foxes reached the thicker throngs of beasts, the creatures parted to give them room to enter the camp. Suddenly, however, as they reached a halfway point to the site of Rothel Garhan's tent, a large rat leaped from the crowds and into the fox's wide corridor. He stood before them haughtily, throwing back his ugly snout with a sneer as he gazed upon them. Over his shoulder he carried loosely a longsword, which he shortly reached up to grip with his sword and pull from its sheath. Standing before the four foxes, the rat appeared undaunted, sneering dangerously and spitting at the leader's feet before he spoke. "What business do yer 'ave 'ere, fox? You do know where ye are, 'ight? Yer in the camp of the Loshanks! None pass 'ere unless by order of Gar'an 'imself." The hooded leader gazed contemptuously, obviously disgusted, at the vermin, turning to gaze at his three companions for a moment before he gestured for the red fox to step forward. "Scythe," he whispered ominously as the fox passed him to stand against the rat, "give him a chance, will you? I wish not to offend this... Garhan creature. We are here to ask for his assistance, after all." Scythe merely grinned and nodded, stepping in front of his group, his grin widening.

"Foolish scum," he began with a hiss, obviously enjoying his duty, "you dare to stan' against the mighty Skean? To spit at 'is feet? Yer not worthy to look upon him, scum. Now, be a good rat and stan' aside if yeh want to keep yer life."

The rat merely laughed with a coughing tone, his sneer growing more prominent on his snout. "Yeh don't 'ave any idea 'ho YER talkin' to, fox," he spat, advancing dangerously on the red fox, "I'm Gnarlface, Cap'n of the fifth division of the Loshanks. Yer not even armed wit notin' but those stupi' little claw-things. Ya really think yer gonna beat me wit somethin' as measly as dat?"

Chuckling quite giddily, the fox refrained from answering, merely walking forward to match the rat's advance before he glanced back at the hooded leader. The leader hesitated, perhaps reluctant, and then nodded, the shadow of a grin visible through the darkness of the shadow of his hood. Practically bouncing forward, Scythe turned back, dodging the rat's first swing easily as he turned to his side and lashed out, his battle claws slicing with a sickening flow of blood into the face of the rat. "Lookit that!" Chuckled Scythe cheerfully, shoving the rat on the back so that he fell, "now yer ugly mug matches yer name!" The vermin stumbled forward, gasping for breath before he turned with a snarl on the fox. Launching himself forward once more, the large rat swung with a wide sweep - yet again in vain. The fox was already on top of him, digging his claws easily into the chest area of the rat, an expression of glee contorting his face. Suddenly, however, he stopped, a single nick of a blade causing him to halt. Turning his head with anger showing clearly on his wolfish expression he froze, his facade melting into one of fear and horror before he leapt off of the rat, bowing low to the now-unhooded form of a fox. The fearsome black fox merely glanced at him before returning his gaze to the rat.

"Take us to this 'Garhan'." Whispered the black fox to the whimpering rat, moving his paw almost thoughtfully to his side, where a long dagger, nearly a dirk, lay in wait. "If you don't, I'll have to kill you." Immediatly the rat scurried up from his position, yelping in both pain and fear as Scythe glowered at him, dissapointed at the loss of his kill. He bowed low to the fox, and the leader motioned loosely for Scythe to fall into rank. Walking forward smoothly behind the wounded, stumbling rat, the black fox was instantaneously followed by the three foxes. Satel glanced sideways at the massive fox beside her, blinking once to signal the brown dog fox. "Synth." she hissed nearly inaudibly, glancing warily to the gliding figure of their leader only a bit in front of them. "What does the master wish of this wildcat? He is yet to reveal his reasoning behind our little expedition."

Synth chuckled in a low tone, grinning slightly as he peered at her from the corner of his auburn eye. "It is not for us to question the master's commandments, nor for us to puzzle over what he orders us to do. You know the law." Satel hissed, irritated, under her breath, leering angrily back at the large fox. However, she did not question his answer, nor respond in any other way, merely turning to gaze forward once more, with slitted eyes, as they marched on.

* * *

Virtane, Captain of the second division of the Loshanks, had stood calmly as his comrade had been set upon by Scythe, the red fox, though as the small procession had begun to make their way to his leader's tent he had sprung into action, commanding a small amount of his division and a bit of the Fifth to follow the foxes and their captain. Then he had quickly ran toward Rothel's tent, easily faster than the foxes that patiently followed after the wounded and stumbling fool Gnarlface. 

The large wildcat sprang from his tent, strapping his enormous longsword to his belt simultaneously. Gazing cooly at Virtane, the ferret who had so cheerfully watched the beating of Sarzel, the wildcat spoke in his velvet, soothing tone. "Come now, Virtane, lead me to these 'intruders.'" The two vermin stepped forward, the wildcat towering easily above the striped ferret. He had had no time to put on his "fancier", per say, armor, seeing as he had been informed by Virtane that the four foxes and Gnarlface were already more than halfway to his tent. Stepping forward with his long strides, it did not take him long to meet his captain and the foxes.

Virtane stepped forward, glaring at Skean and his three foxes with a disgusted expression before he spoke. "Before you stands Rothel Garhan, lord of the Loshanks. Bow before him or face the wrath of the Five Divisions!"

All of the creatures waited in silence, though it seemed to be getting a bit comical that the warlord and his captain still awaited any motion from the four creatures - it was obvious by their expressions and stances that they had no intention of bowing before the large creature. Suddenly, however, there came a rustling beside the four foxes, the rat that had led them falling to his knees, gasping for breath, before answering with the ritual reply. "I, Captain Gnarlface of the Fifth Division, bow before the might of Rothel Garhan and his Loshanks!" He choked out, coughing up a small amount of blood as he did so. The mighty warlord acknoledged this with a small nod, turning his head to gaze at Virtane. "Get Gnarlface's wounds treated. I will later asess his capabilities as a captain." Virtane nodded slowly, yet ruefully, signaling two of his division to pick up the wounded vermin and carry him to his tent. Following them reluctantly, the ferret glanced back at the scene before mumbling something inaudible and stepping forward to follow the two vermin.

It grew quiet once more, Skean, Scythe, Synth, and Satel remaining still as the wildcat warlord did the same. Eventually the crowd grew restless, the gathered vermin slowly trickling away to only a few beasts before Rothel made his move. "Come, fox." He said welcomingly, sweeping his enormous paw up to motion toward his tent. "We shall speak." As the black fox nodded and moved forward, the three behind him immediatly fell into step behind the fox and followed him. Garhan, however, stopped this immediatly, placing a paw warningly behind Skean's back, barring their way. "_You,_" he began, "shall wait outside for your leader to return." Satel visibly bristled, her paws twitching as two throwing stars fell into them. However, Skean turned and gazed at her blankly, a slightly dangerous glint flashing through their emerald depths before he turned and followed the wildcat into the tent.

* * *

"Damn it all." Cursed the white vixen, hissing with a dark expression toward the tent, in which her leader and the lord of the Loshanks conversed. Occasionally a snippet of conversation drifted toward the three foxes who sat together, cloaked in black, from within the folded cloth. Satel had picked up strange words such as "Salamandastron" and "Redwall", though the context around the words gave her no clue as to what these words meant. Muttering to herself, the white vixen kicked out suddenly at a passing stoat, glowering at his trembling form. "Get us food." She hissed angrily, booting him along with another swift kick. "And make it fast." 

Chuckling to himself, the large fox Synth bit into a well-cooked peice of peasant. "Good idea, Satel, to force the poor vermin scum into makin' us some vittles." He grinned wolfishly, swallowing a large chunk before continuing. "But yeh really need ter learn to control that temper yeh have, yeh know," he continued mockingly, "or Skean might 'ave you answer for not obeyin' the law."

"Curse the law." spat the vixen bad-temperedly, displaying perfectly well the temper she had just been chided for. Synth lowered his paw that held the peasant's meat, staring at her with slightly widened eyes before he whispered harshly. "Think about whottcha say, damn yeh. What if Skean was to 'ear yeh?" Snorting with disgust, the vixen rose from her place beside the tent, tossing aside a small bone of a bird as she put up her hood and walked away. Suddenly she turned and called back: "Tell Skean I went fore a walk, I'm not desertin'." Chuckling to himself, the large dog fox resumed eating, muttering to himself between two bites a moment later. "Satel, you fool, you've always been afrai' of Skean."

* * *

**Waha! Longest chapter yet, finished! Funfunfun. The part at the end, the 'conversation' between Synth and Satel was fun to write. It might be kind of unrealistic or sort of non-Redwally if Satel uses throwing stars and stuff, but I kind of remember in one of the books (I can never keep them straight) that some creature used a throwing star or something like it. Who are Skean, Synth, Scythe, and Satel? Why do they all have names that start with "S"? What is this 'law'? Why did Rothel and Skean mention Salamandastron and Redwall in their conversation? Maybe you'll find out sometime soon, hehe.**

**- Aaera**


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